eyes.

"I can't seem to remember----"

"I came from Princeton with Dick Goodhue," he explained. "It seemed such
a simple thing. Shouldn't I have cut in?"

He looked straight at her now. His heart seemed to stop. She had to be
made to remember.

"My name is George Morton."

She smiled.

"I've heard Betty talk of you. You're a great football player. It was
very kind. Of course it's all right."

But it wasn't. The touch of her hand became unbearable to George because
she didn't remember. He had to make her remember.

They were near the entrance. He paused and drew her apart from the
circling dancers.

"Would you mind losing a little of this?" he asked, trying to keep his
voice steady. "It may seem queer, but I have something to tell you that
you ought to know."

She studied him, surprised and curious.

"I can't imagine----" she began. "What is it?"

It was only a step through the door and to an alcove with a red plush
bench. The light was soft there. No one was close enough to hear. She
sat down, laughing.

"Don't keep me in suspense."

He, too, sat down. He spoke deliberately.

"The last two times I've seen you you wouldn't remember me. Even now,
when I've told you my name, you won't."

Her surprise increased.

"It's about you! But I said Betty had----Who are you?"

He bent closer.

"If I didn't tell you you might remember later. Anyway, I wouldn't want
to fight a person whose eyes were closed."

Her lips half parted. She appeared a trifle frightened. She made a
movement as if to rise.

"Just a minute," he said, harshly.

He called on the hatred that had increased during the hours of his
mental and physical slavery, a hatred to be appeased only through his
complete mastery of her.

"It won't take much to remind you," he hurried on. "Although you talk to
me as if I were a man now, last summer I was a beast because I had the
nerve to touch you when you were thrown from your horse."

She stood up quickly, reaching out for the alcove curtain. Her contralto
voice was uneven.

"Stop! You shouldn't have said that. You shouldn't have told me."

All at once she straightened, her cheeks flaming. She started for the
ballroom. He sprang after her, whispering over her shoulder:

"Now we can start fair."

She turned and faced him.

"I don't know how you got here, but you ask for a fight, Mr. Morton----"

He smiled.

"I am Mr. Morton now. I'm getting on."

Then he knew again that sickening s